


I'm Where I Should Be

by PatsysPyjamas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby Disapproving Makes An Appearance, Angst and Feels, Art Helps The Healing, Artist Clarke Griffin, Claustrophobia, Clexa, Comfort, Crying, F/F, Falling In Love, Fear, Firefighter Lexa, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa Becomes Clarke's Rock, Life Changing Experience, Panic Attacks, Protective Lexa, Taking Risks, Talks Of The End, Trapped In A Fire, Traumatic Experience, feelings of hopelessness, letting go of the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-11-13 10:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatsysPyjamas/pseuds/PatsysPyjamas
Summary: The last thing she wants to do is freak out, but trying to keep calm isn't as easy as it sounds. Not when the fog of smoke slowly begins to fill the whole of the vehicle. It makes her cough, makes her eyes water while she reaches for the handle located on the door panel. Clarke pulls once, twice ready to make her escape only to find that the door won't budge. It's  jammed. A feeling of dread washes over her as she frantically yanks on the handle to no avail. She's trapped and the fire raging a few meters behind her is only getting bigger. . .Clarke's life changes and at the centre of that is Lexa.





	1. Reorientation

**Author's Note:**

> Life can change in an instant and Clarke starts to re-evaluate what is truly important to her. . .
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Fires & being trapped.

**I'm Where I Should Be**

 

She's running late.

The one day she needs to be punctual, turns out to be the day she forgets to set the alarm on her phone. She really only has herself to blame, Abby had warned her not to stay up too late. Although that hadn't stopped her from curling up on the sofa, under the nearby lamp light, charcoal pencil in hand - sketching yet another moment of inspiration to try and rid herself of nervous energy. It had been the cramp running along her left hand that had forced her to down tools in the end; minutes before the clock read: three am.

Clarke found herself spending yet another night back in her childhood bedroom, her shoebox apartment way too small to house the large canvas she's been diligently working on. Abby didn't seem to mind her coming and going or raiding the fridge for that matter, and it wasn't like she could afford to rent a studio to work in either. She doesn't have that luxury, not on her current budget anyway. Clarke hoped that would all change now some of her pieces were going to be showcased at Mount Weather gallery.

She knows how lucky she is. Most established galleries aren't exactly on the hunt for unknown talent, but thanks to serendipity and ok - her mother, she's been given this incredible opportunity. Coincidentally, Abby had been chief surgeon on gallery owner, Dante Wallace's shoulder surgery and when he'd mentioned in passing he needed a reliable intern - the doctor suggested her daughter.

Clarke was dedicated - worked hard and even tolerated Dante's leering son, Cage, throughout the whole of her internship. She simply chose to knuckle down and really, Cage had been the only drawback. Dante was a wealth of knowledge to the up and coming artist. He seem to genuinely appreciate her work. Always inquiring if she had made something new and if he could see it. Whether it be a page out of her sketchbook or her impressive lifelike oil painting of a post-apocalyptic forest. The man really had become invested in her work.

So invested in fact that he was _finally_ willing to give Clarke a chance to have her own exhibit - of sorts - Four of her own artistic creations would be displayed - ready for purchase if someone felt incline. Her work would only be taking up a small corner inside the vast space of the gallery, but it's something. More than, Clarke is well aware an opportunity such as this is a pipe dream for most struggling artist out there and here she is taking her first steps to getting her art seen on a large public platform. She couldn't be happier . . . although she _really_ is running late for her meeting with Dante.

Holding one end of the carefully wrapped - medium-sized painting, Clarke looks over to her mother balancing the other as they speed walk over to her beloved car. "You got it?" She asks, manoeuvring her side of the bubble-wrapped canvas so she can push forward the passenger seat to gain access to the back seats. After a little nudge and careful shove, Clarke places the painting on the floor of her coupé leaning it back against the worn away seat cover with a relieved sigh. Thankfully this was the only painting she would have to transport herself. Her smaller - more affordable - charcoal sketches had already been sent for framing and were going to be delivered straight to the gallery. It was a considerable weight off her mind.

"Are you sure you don't want to take my car?" Abby pauses, eyes narrowing at the lack of space. "It has more room for your painting than this rust bucket."

Clarke takes offence at that. As silly as it sounds her humble Honda Civic felt almost like an extension of herself. Clarke wasn't a gearhead by any stretch of the imagination, but her little dented and beaten up black colored DX coupé had earned its place in her heart. Aside from the fact that the car was her first _real_ purchase on that long road into adulthood; maintaining her Honda had been one of her father's pet projects. Many Sunday afternoons had been spent watching her dad tinkering under the hood, as he spoke animatedly about carburetors and fuel filters.

Now that he was gone. . . She simply couldn't part with it.

"There's enough room," is Clarke's response to her mom's offer of car swapping. "It's fine." She takes one more glance before pulling the hefty seat back into place with a click.

Abby's disapproving frown tells Clarke she's about to hear another lecture. "You really need to get a new car, honey," the doctor continues while her thumb rubs across a streak of rust on the roof of the car. "The amount of money you've poured into this old heap could have been spent on purchasing a new one."

"Why?" Clarke scoffs, rummaging in her bag to double check her iPad is still in there. "The _new_ front end is barely a year old. It just needs to be repainted." She dismisses her concerns. Her _baby_ of course had needed a little bit of restoration work, it was a 1997 model after all. The mismatched paint due to the new lip and grill only gave it more character in Clarke's eyes. Long story short, she loved her car.

It had a driver-side airbag so it was good enough for her.

"Shit! Look at the time. I gotta go," Clarke slips into the driver's seat, closing the door as she goes. "See you later."

"I'll be making beef stew for dinner." Abby tells her with a wave of her hand, taking a step back as the engine rumbles to life. Loud blaring rock music follows suit a second later. Shaking her head, Abby remains on the edge of the driveway until Clarke is out of sight.

  
The first red light she stops at has her reaching for her phone. Keeping one eye on the traffic, she thumbs in a quick apology message to Dante before slipping the phone back into her right jean pocket. Since she's not technically _working_ as his assistant today, Clarke has forgone her usual gallery attire of a cute grey pencil skirt and white blouse. Instead she rocking stylish black skinny jeans with an edgy dark blue tee. Still looking very professional in her opinion.

Once the light hits green, Clarke finds the gas pedal again - tapping her fingers in time with the music against the steering wheel.

She'd be the first to admit she wasn't always into heavy guitars and screaming vocals. Her new-found love for this genre was the only good thing she'd taken from her relationship with her ex. Finn, the sweet talker with an appetite for curvy blonde's. He'd shown his true colors after only four months of being together. Clarke discovered a cell phone she didn't recognize, tucked away at the bottom of his soccer bag. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was using the phone for. Although, the recently sent photo of bra clad breasts - obviously not belonging to her - was proof enough. Needless to say, she dumped his lying - cheating sorry ass.

Two months later, found her emotional wounds _almost_ fully healed. In her more honest moments, she can acknowledge the fact that she really did fall for the creep. But... hearts eventually mend and her no strings hook up with her new gal pal Niylah, certainly helped.

Not wanting to dwell on the past when her future was looking so gloriously bright. Clarke rolls her shoulders, turning the volume up louder on the outdated cd player - singing along to words that no longer leave such a bitter taste in her mouth.

 _"I know I'll never trust a single thing you say. You knew your lies would divide us, but you lied anyway. And all the lies have got you floating up above us all. But what goes up has got to fall..._ " Just as she's getting into the rhythm of the melody, she feels the coupé judder under her feet.

She's unconcerned at first, as this has happened more times than not. It's only when the sound of metal grinding together and the engine spluttering does Clarke begin to panic. "No! Not now!" She begs, only for her Honda to stall right in the middle of the traffic flow. It doesn't take long for the vehicles behind her to honk. The incessant noise only serves to increase her stress levels. She's well aware of the inconvenience her car trouble is causing, but do the other drivers really think she wants this to happen? She has places to be too, you know!

"Come on," she turns the key for the third time in the ignition. "Don't let me down now." Thankfully the car battery seems to cooperate and once again she's moving. With her good mood slowly evaporating, she decides to turn off the car stereo to assess the worrying noises coming from the engine. It's enough to make Clarke grimace - they sound even worse than they did a second ago. Maybe her mother was right? Maybe it was time to get a new car. To finally let go. . . After all the list of problems was steadily mounting. The door on the passenger side was getting stuck and not to mention both window crank handles were also completely snapped off.

She supposed sentimentality in regards to a vehicle could only get you so far, until it ended up becoming a money pit.

The decision she wasn't quite willing to make - may be taken out of her hands when Clarke feels her Honda make the same judder as before. Thanks to her quick instincts, she has just enough time to pull off the road before the car comes to a complete dead stop. The thick white smoke fuming from under the hood only seems to mock her further. Groaning in frustration, she presses her forehead against the steering wheel. "This is just great!" She mutters still slumped forward, her mind whirling with all of the endless tasks that she needed to do today.

Although, nobody ever said being an artist was easy and never one to complain about things for long, Clarke takes a deep breath and that's when the smell of smoke grows stronger. Not the vapory wisps she smelt before, this was dense and heavy. The potent odour quickly engulfing the air around her. Clearing her throat, she looks straight-ahead with a sharp jerk of her neck. Her eyes immediately catch sight of something in the wing mirror. Flames. The orange glow seems to be escaping from under the body of the car, the back left tire alight with hellish fury. "Fuck!" Clarke exclaims, trying desperately to keep a firm hold of her composure.

The last thing she wants to do is freak out, but trying to keep calm isn't as easy as it sounds. Not when the fog of smoke slowly begins to fill the whole of the vehicle. It makes her cough, makes her eyes water while she reaches for the handle located on the door panel. Clarke pulls once, twice ready to make her escape only to find that the door won't budge. It's jammed. A feeling of dread washes over her as she frantically yanks on the handle to no avail. She's trapped and the fire raging a few meters behind her is only getting bigger.

"HELP!" She cries out unbuckling her seat belt, the heat beginning to prickle at her skin. "HEL--" The rest of her words go unfinished, the smoke causing her to bark out a choked cough. The air feels suffocating, she can't breathe. She needs to get out. Turning her attention to the other door, Clarke leans over the stick shift balancing her weight on the empty seat as she tries to open the door. "Come on!" She pleads, shifting closer banging her free hand on the window. After one more useless tug, Clarke flops back into the drivers seat keeping her head low.

She won't give up, she'll find a way out of this. . She just needs a second to think.

For most of her life, Clarke has always been known as a problem solver. People often looked to her for help, guidance and she always manages to find a way to get things done and now would be no exception. Looking through the haze at the window, her adrenaline surges. A need to survive consumes her every instinct. Shuffling backwards until her butt is resting against the console between the seats, Clarke gives an almighty kick to the glass. Then another, using the ball of her sneaker clad foot to inflict as much force behind the movement as she could muster.

"BREAK!" She shouts through a heaving, rasp of breath.

Seconds feel like hours, as if time itself has been suspended, but no matter how hard she kicks out, the window just won't break. She coughs, fighting against the dizziness that's overcome her. Fights for every bit of oxygen she's able to draw into her lungs. "B-br..eak." Clarke wheezes out. Her body feels almost weightless to her now and the sole of her shoe that once was like a battering ram against the glass, has lost all of its power. No matter how many times she blinks, the heaviness pulls her under. Her eyes close plunging the world around her into complete darkness.

Her consciousness is fading fast. . . She can't . .

"Clarke!" She hears the urgent whisper. It's faint, but it's a voice she knows. One she trusts. It's been her guiding force throughout every step of her life. A voice she never thought she'd ever hear again. " **CLARKE!** "

The demanding call of her name has her sitting bolt upright with a sharp gasp. She's starved for air, much like a diver resurfacing from the hollow depths of water. "Dad?" She calls for him, trying once again to reach for the handle.

"Hello?" A soft feminine tone calls out to her, followed by a strong tug at the outer door handle. "Can anyone hear me?"

Her heart pounds as she edges closer, she can hear every beat ringing inside of her ears. "I'm trapped!" Clarke yells, "The doors won't open! Please, I. . ." She hacks with the effort of trying to speak. She still feels lightheaded, but she's no longer alone. She'll make it through this.

"Ma'am, it's going to be okay. I'm a firefighter, off-duty at the moment but just in the right place at the right time, I guess," her seeming saviour reassures her. "You need to cover your mouth and don't try to talk." Clarke follows her simple instructions, pulling her T-shirt over her nose and mouth - silently cursing herself as to why she didn't do this before. "I don't have my equipment with me right now, but I've called my guys and they'll soon be here." Clarke can hear a thud against the door again, the creaking of metal juxtaposed against the calmness of the strangers voice, as the woman keeps talking despite the cloud of smoke surrounding the car.

"We pride ourselves on our rapid response, Ma'am," she says with another loud rapping clunk. "I bet it's a bank down in there."

Clarke doesn't respond, she can't. She's pressed her body against the door, waiting for it to open. She searches frantically out of the fogged up window to look at what's going on and that's when she finally sees her. A willowy figure moving in seeming slow motion. Clarke knows that her decreasing lack of awareness is one of the many signs of oxygen deprivation. She's already experiencing a change in heart rate and she's pretty sure she almost fainted. She's running out of time.

Things start becoming more hazy around her. Even the door she's resting against feels like it's vibrating. Sluggish with her movements, Clarke presses the side of her face to the glass to check. Her hand follows, splaying wide. Much to her surprise a palm meets her own. The window dividing their touch, but that doesn't stop Clarke from pressing harder. Forcing her mind to take in the details, the subtle differences between her own hand and the one that's slowly moving away. She panics at the loss, searching for her saviour until she is virtually face-to-face with a divine being. Green eyes so vivid that she's unprepared for depths she discovers within them.

Perhaps, she wonders fleetingly; that she never made it. Maybe she died here and all the self-righteous preaching, Thelonious Jaha spouted - that she never really paid attention to - about the city of light was correct. Maybe--

Her thoughts gain no further ground when the green eyed deity speaks. "I promise I'll get you out," she assures with a steely determination.

"Just hold on."

Clarke can only watch as everything unfolds around her. The determined heroine seems to have gotten a grip on the upper exterior of the door and blue eyes stare enthralled while this creature of grace pulls at the steel with all of her might, trying to force it open. Deceptive strength flows through the brunette's body as she heaves, her heavenly face displays the agony of the mammoth task she's undertaking. A loud protesting cry escapes from behind the grit of her teeth while she tries to yield the metal to her will.

It's working too.

She's somehow succeeding, the door is giving under the pressure. Clarke can hear the strain of steel before the window finally shatters. Her hands instinctively cover her face against the shower of broken glass. "I've got you. I've got you." She hears, followed by solid and sure hands seemingly pulling her out of the fiery abyss.

"You're safe." The angel reassures and that's when Clarke finally realises it's true.

She takes a large gulp of smokeless air, only to cough and retch.

"The ambulance is just up ahead," Clarke nods at her words, but everything still feels disoriented and when did it suddenly become so cold? "It has to wait for the other cars to clear, that's all."

A sharp choked cry of terror leaves the back of Clarke's throat when she feels the arms wrapped safely around her begin to disentangle. She can't explain it and she knows her mind is confused, but she finally felt safe again. Secure from the inferno now behind her and that was all because of the hero in front of her. She owes her life to this stranger and she couldn't bear the thought of her leaving her just yet.

Before another groan of alarm can pass her lips, Clarke feels herself being placed down. She glances down when she feels coldness underneath her. She's been seated on the hood of what she assumes is the heroes own car. Another shiver racks her body and the commotion happening all around her seems stilted, like she's removed from it all somehow. The only thing real is the figure in front of her, this green-eyed woman removing her own jacket and Clarke follows her movements until she's being engulfed in warmth.

"Your adrenaline is probably crashing," she tells her, guiding Clarke's arms into the sleeves of the soft leather while the blonde wheezes. "I know you feel like you can't talk right now, but can you please tell me your name?"

Clarke blinks, draws in a deep breath and softly utters. "C-Clarke."

"Thank you, Clarke. I'm Lexa and I really need you to keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me?" Clarke didn't even realize she was closing them. "That's it, Clarke. Focus on me and you'll soon be in the ambulance."

She hears the sirens drawing closer, loud and shrill in her ears. Bathing herself and Lexa in there blue glow. A slam of a door follows and rushing footfalls lead right to them. "Lexa?!" Clarke grabs hold of her arm with a rasp. "Stay. Please don't--" Each cough feels like it's tearing through her chest, but Lexa is beside her; closer again and Clarke finds the air she needs. There is someone else there now too, asking questions that Lexa is answering with efficiency. A series of mixed voices while a light is shined into her eyes and then a mask is slipped over her face. Her feet don't touch the floor as she's placed onto the gurney and wheeled inside the emergency vehicle.

"Le...xa?" she calls through the oxygen mask, trying to pull the obstruction aside. Only to feel a hand gently stopping her.

"I'm here," Lexa smiles. "We'll soon be at the hospital. Just rest, okay?"

Yes.

Just a little rest.

 

  
 


	2. Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke deals with the aftermath of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments & kudos last chapter - they really mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and we will learn more about how Clarke's really coping next chapter. <3 <3 <3

**I'm Where I Should Be**

 

****

Her awareness comes back to her in small fragments.

Clarke knows where she is. What has happened and how lucky she is, but her mind still feels splintered. Like her head has been stuffed with cotton and her lungs still crackle with each greedy breath she inhales. The nasal cannula is providing much needed relief, although she's been tempted to pull at the flexible tube nestled inside of her nose. It feels constricting and anything blocking her airway right now feels unbearable, even if it is providing her with oxygen.

The only reason she's resisted tugging it from her nostrils is because of Lexa. She's remained by Clarke's side this whole time, keeping an unspoken promise to _stay_ and Clarke can't look away. Her eyes find green and trace along her face, mapping every contour to memory like she were stood in front of a canvas. She lingers perhaps more than she should on the plumpness of her bottom lip, before she returns to her high cheekbones, back to the golden speckled forest of her eyes.

If Lexa has noticed, then she doesn't say. She keeps the topic of conversation light and without prompting, she refills Clarke's empty cup with fresh water. Her calming presence keeps the darkness from seeping in, from pulling her under and dragging her mind back into the smoke filled Honda. Now isn't the time to turn over each piece of this trauma and evaluate what could have been lost. Clarke needs to be soothed by the soft timbre of Lexa's voice. Everything else can wait.

"You'll feel really dehydrated over the next couple days, sore throat, the works - unfortunately." Lexa tells her and Clarke pays more attention to her words than when the twenty-something resident told her to ' _keep your fluids up_ ' - in a toneless voice, like she'd been reciting a passage from a textbook. Lexa sounds warm, genuine. "But may I recommend a herbal remedy that actually works?"

Clarke nods eagerly at the offer because right now it feels like she's been gargling glass. "Tried and tested, huh?" She rasps, a hint of a smile gracing her face as she takes another small sip of water.

"Yep. By yours truly," Lexa assures, leaning back in the uncomfortable looking plastic chair she's seated on. "It's simple, but it will really help to open up your lungs. It's basically just breathing in steam with added thyme."

Clarke lets the imagery play out. Lexa with a towel draped over her chestnut curls, while she inhales deeply over a pot full of heated herbal water. Presumably chasing away the residual effects of her job. _Her job._ . . one that endangers her life everyday. The thought alone sends a sinking feeling inside of her stomach. It's silly really, the sudden churning of her gut; Lexa puts herself in harm's way frequently and honestly what right does Clarke have to worry? All she'll be able to do from here is express her gratitude, knowing her humble words could never be enough.

"Thank you," Clarke whispers with a sincerity she's never experienced before. "For. . saving me, I mean." She clarifies, reaching her hand across the scratchy hospital blanket to find Lexa's. Her slender calloused, hard-working fingers slide against Clarke's palm without hesitation. Their hands fitting perfectly together as if they had been designed that way. Clarke has the overwhelming urge to never let go. "For being here now, for not leaving me. I know this is going above and beyond your regular duties."

"Please, Clarke - thank yous aren't necessary," Lexa shakes her head, squeezing her hand more tightly. "I made a promise that I'd make sure you were safe and I meant it." The movement draws Clarke's awareness to a flash of color inked into sun-kissed skin. Turquoise adorns her wrist, and if she looks more closely a vibrant scarlet red is laid perfectly beside it. The cuff of her shirt is hiding the design, although Clarke can already tell at first glance that it's a beautiful tattoo.

She wants to tell her so, but a deep rumbling croak steals her words; makes her cough until her eyes sting with tears. Lexa is back on her feet in seconds, palm pressed at the perfect angle on her back to relieve the ache. Each soothing circle against her spine, eases Clarke with her laboured breathing.

"Maybe you should consider going on vocal rest like all those famous singers," Lexa suggests, her teasing tone earning her a smile. "Although, drinking warm honey and lemon might not be a bad idea."

Clarke's smile turns wry, before she inhales deeply, wanting to reply with something playful and sassy. Well, as sassy as she can muster for someone with mild oxygen deprivation. "Are. . you saying that. . I talk too much?" She can't help the chuckle that escapes, only serving to make her hack out another rough sounding cough.

To which Lexa thoughtfully brings the cup to her parched lips and Clarke doesn't hesitate in taking a long gulp. "I said no such thing," Lexa says playfully and her easygoing nature is exactly what Clarke needs right now. It helps to take her mind away from where she is, it stops her from panicking when every deep inhale she takes doesn't feel like enough.

"Oh--" She begins, the reply ready on the tip of her tongue - only to be cut off by a figure in the doorway. "Knock, knock." The portly grey-haired man steps further into the small room, swiping twice at the tablet in his large hands before his crystal blue eyes meet Clarke. "Hello miss Griffin, I'm Dr. Loesser. Sorry for the wait, but I trust our new resident Ontari helped settle you in?" He asks, his attention somewhat distracted again by the device he's tapping away on.

Clarke shares a knowing look with Lexa at that, because the less said about Ontari's bedside manner the better.

"I understand you've had quite the fright this morning?" He steps forward and really that's putting it mildly. She was petrified. "Pulled from a fire?"

The icy shiver that courses through her body at his words is involuntary. She finds herself missing the warmth from Lexa's jacket. Clarke reluctantly had to take it off to change into a hospital gown when she was sent off for tests. The kind nurse Harper, had taken the rest of her belongings from her and she hadn't seen them since. . . "Clarke?" It's only when she feels a light squeeze to her shoulder from Lexa that she realizes the doctor is waiting for her to reply. "Yeah," her bottom lip quivers with her answer. "Lexa saved me."

"You're Lieutenant Woods?" Dr. Loesser asks, unable to hide his mild surprise, extending his hand out for Lexa to take.

"Yes," Lexa confirms, shaking the offered hand with fluidity. "First on the scene, albeit I'm off-duty today."

Her muddled brain feels like it's processing information on a delay as she watches the two interact. Lexa never mentioned her rank and finding out that she's a Lieutenant shocks her. It shouldn't really - a title changes nothing - it does however shine an even greater light on her kindness and gentleness.

"You're the talk of the break-room," the doctor smiles. "The ambulance driver who brought you both here, Monroe. She's telling anyone that will listen, about the firefighter Lieutenant Woods; who pulled Dr. Griffin's daughter from a car that was completely ablaze. She said and I quote: if Lieutenant Woods hadn't hulked out and practically torn the door open, then. . . Well, the rest doesn't even bear thinking about."

"I'm glad that I could be of assistance," Lexa says unassuming, her hands clasped behind her back like some regal queen from the pages of an old fairy tale Clarke use to read as a kid. She leaves her breathless for an entirely different reason. "Knowing Clarke is okay, is more than enough."

He nods at that, his smile wide before he turns to face Clarke once again. "You're a very lucky girl, Clarke," Loesser states the obvious. "Now? Where were we. . Ah, the results of your Head CT scan show no damage from the oxygen deprivation you've experienced, but I'd still like to keep you in overnight." The look of sheer panic crossing her face doesn't go unnoticed. "It's just a precaution, but what you really need right now is rest and to replenish your fluid intake. Lots of water, plenty of vitamin C and hot drinks, okay?"

Clarke's shoulders sag, the last place she wants to be is here. The overwhelming smell of bleach and sterilizing chemicals is enough to make the pulse in her neck pound. She wants to go home, curl up in her own bed and throw every window open wide to surround herself with as much air as she can. "Can't I rest at home?" She sighs, her voice gravelly.

"I don't think Abby would--" The man's words are lost over the commotion of a new presence in the room. "Talk of the devil." Dr. Loesser smiles.

Abby with all the seeming bluster she can conjure, makes her way inside. Her face is ashen and the worried pools of her brown eyes search over every inch of Clarke that she can see. "Mom? What are you doing here?" Clarke tries to keep her voice steady, rubbing at her breastbone, like that will magically ease the tightness in her chest.

The doctor's throat bobs once, before she speaks. Her voice thick with emotion. "Jackson called me."

It was a stupid question really, Clarke figures. Of course her mother's most trusted colleague contacted her as soon as he became aware Clarke had been admitted into the hospital. Nothing goes on at Arkadia general without her mother knowing about it.

"I got here as fast as I could," Abby marches forward, cupping her hands against her daughter's face. "Are you all right?"

Clarke can only nod because truthfully she doesn't know what the answer is. Physically she supposes she's _fine_. Mentally - right now is debatable.

"She'll be fine after some rest." He tells Abby and Clarke recognizes the change in her mother's demeanour. What was once the face of an anxious parent is now hidden behind her professional mask - as Abby rounds the hospital bed to meet the fellow doctor. Clarke can hear their now hushed tones as they confer. Whispering, like she's some child who isn't old enough to understand. It's a little infuriating. She listens closely for a moment longer, enough that she can hear Abby's disapproving voice mutter: _I don't know how many times I've warned her about that damn car!_ Still, Clarke knows her mother well enough to know that behind her anger is fear. The biting words disguising her inner anxiety.

She understands. . . and really - if she thinks about it - her mother already seeming to know almost every facet of what happened is no real surprise to her either. She's probably cornered every staff member Clarke's come into contact with to get the full story - checked over her patient chart with a fine-tooth comb before even stepping foot into the room. It's just how she is.

"Clarke?" Lexa says softly making blue eyes flicker to meet penetrating green. "Would you like me to head out? Let you get some rest and be with your family?"

The word _no!_ flys out of her mouth before she can stop herself. She knows she's taken up too much of Lexa's time already and wanting her near is illogical and completely irrational, but something inside claws at her - insistent that Lexa should stay - at least for now. "Please," Clarke begs past the soreness of her aching throat, glancing at her mother still deep in conversation before her hand finds the crook of Lexa's elbow. "You're the only thing keeping me sane right now." Clarke explains, gruff and throaty. "You haven't even been formally introduced to my mom yet and I bet you can already tell she's a little overbearing."

Lexa's smile is full of tenderness. "But she means well?"

Clarke nods ready with a sardonic quip, until her breath is taken by another chesty cough. "Don't exert yourself, honey." Abby calls to her while she's fallen into step with her co-worker who is heading out of the door with talks of extending her stay by another night. No! She. . . Clarke doesn't want to overreact, but each cough feels more jarring than the last - rattling her chest, causing her to wheeze. The sudden lack of air brings her mind right back to the fire, she can feel her heart rate picking up at the very thought of being back there - trapped.

She's trapped. . . She can't breathe. .

"Clarke?"

Lexa's voice sounds distant, she blinks - her own knuckles have turned white with how tightly she has them closed into a fist. The next thing she's aware of is Lexa's hands against her shoulders - as if she's trying to smooth out Clarke's stiff posture. She's guiding her into an upright position. "Slow calm breaths, Clarke," Lexa demonstrates. "Inhale slowly through your nose - use the cannula - take a nice long breath."

She feels herself begin to breathe - easing her marginally.

"Exhale slowly."

Clarke does - over and over - leaving behind the virtual precipice she felt she was standing on. Her mind clears, with Lexa coming back into full focus. "Nice slow breaths," Lexa tells her, gently carding a hand through Clarke's hair to soothe her. It works and Clarke finds herself leaning into her reassuring touch. "You're okay. Just breathe."

Just breathe.

 

 

 


	3. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is having a hard time dealing with things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments & kudos last chapter! <3 <3 <3

**I'm Where I should Be**

 

 

It's pitch-black.

There isn't a trace of light to cut through the inky gloom surrounding her and she's not really sure how she got here in the first place, or where _here_ even is for that matter. She can't stay, that much is clear. The oppressive murk is closing in fast forcing her to venture forward. A hesitant step has her bare feet sinking into the dampness of the moss she finds herself standing on. The whispering breeze circles causing her to pick up her pace; as the sound groans through the foreboding slope of the approaching willow tree. She chances a look back to the vines now slithering towards her, twining around her ankles with ease - taking an unyielding hold. The whipping din of a second vine, cracks against the air, sending her careening to the ground with a thud. She claws at the earth, her nails digging into the dirt as she's being dragged back. She's almost reached the billow of smoke when a firm hand wraps around her wrist.

"I've got you."

"Lexa!"

  
Clarke's eyes fly open - alert - her bedroom is still bathed in light and not from the sun. The blinds are pulled tight, but occasionally sway forward with the gentle predawn breeze from the open window. It's been five days since Clarke left the hospital and being snatched from her sleep was becoming a nightly occurrence. She'd wake up at four am - sometimes even earlier - dripping in sweat trying to make sense of these unforeseen night terrors. At first Clarke tried to go back to sleep, she would toss and turn until sunrise - desperately wanting her mind and body to find rest again. But it never did - and today it seemed, would be no different.

Admitting defeat, Clarke throws aside the rumpled bed sheets. Sits up with a sigh, raking a hand through her hair, trying to rid her mind of the vividness of her so-called dream. After a couple of deep breaths - she wills her heart to find its natural rhythm. The last thing she wants is to face another panic attack alone. "Inhale slowly. Exhale slowly." She repeats the words Lexa told her back at the hospital. Although thinking about Lexa now feels a little bittersweet. She hadn't seen the Lieutenant since the day of the fire and what was niggling Clarke most about the situation was that she never got the chance to say goodbye. Clarke had been lulled to sleep by the beauty - fatigue claiming her weary bones as soon as she felt Lexa running her fingers through her hair. When she'd awoken a few hours later - Lexa was gone.

She's had bouts of anger over it too - directed squarely at herself for falling to sleep; which was ridiculous. She just couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was unfinished somehow. They'd made no promises to each other and Lexa was only doing her _job_ after all, but Clarke wanted; dare she say it. . . more. Whatever that may have entailed. If only her mother had thought to ask Lexa for her contact details before she left.

"Just breathe," she reminds herself, taking a long sip of the now room temperature water from her nightstand. "It was just a dream." Clarke states resolutely as she makes her way into the makeshift studio in her mother's basement. If she can't sleep, she might as well be productive.

The large easel stands in the centre of the room with the incomplete canvas slotted in place against it. The two paint splattered side tables hold an array of oil paints and brushes all varying in size. The painting itself can't help but catch your eye. Bold heavy brushstrokes of silvery white intermingle with rich forest green, spiralling together in a cataclysmic dance. It speaks of pain, even to the untrained critical eye and giving her all to creating new pieces is the only thing that seems to ease the constant tension she feels lately. With a brush in her hand, mind absorbed in applying the right mix of paint; Clarke could take on anything. Once she steps away it becomes a different story.

It's how she spends her days, letting the hours tick by with every considered brushstroke, until the paintings are complete. The canvases all steadily piling up - each darker than the last - matching her mood.

With another piece complete; Clarke licks her chapped lips assessing over her work, until she feels a presence behind her.

"Have you been down here all night?" Abby asks lingering by the last step of the basement stairway.

"No," Clarke tells the white lie, turning her attention to the orange hues streaming in from the egress windows. "Are you heading to work?" She changes the subject placing her green tipped brush into a jar of murky water. She can feel her mother watching her closely as the doctor moves forward, before her brown eyes sweep over the canvas.

Ignoring the asked question, Abby places her hand against her daughter's shoulder. "I thought Dante was giving you some time to recuperate, before going ahead with your showcase?"

By now the largest art piece she'd ever worked on _should_ be on display at the gallery. Muted tones blended seamlessly with bold pops of vibrant yellows. It was her most expressive working of colors that she'd ever put onto woven fabric. It should have been unveiled for the world to see and now all she had to show for 90 hours of creative work was burnt ruins. Clarke had tried to convince herself that in the grand scheme of things; it was inconsequential, but that didn't stop the tears from prickling at her eyes.

"I'm not sick," she snaps, pulling away from her mother's touch as she continues to tidy away her paints "And if you must know my exhibition has been postponed. Dante has decided to go with some other newcomer. Maya Vie with her Turneresque pastel landscapes." Her explanation came off sounding more bitter than she'd meant it to.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Abby's sympathetic gaze doesn't alter. "Although, for now; it's probably for the best and I'm sure Dante is just trying to be mindful of the situation."

Maybe it was her mother's tone, or maybe it was because Abby really didn't seem surprised by her news, but Clarke was starting to get the impression that Dante's sudden decision wasn't only him being considerate. "And what situation would that be exactly, mom?"

"Clarke." Abby sighs exasperated, straightening her posture in a way she did every time she thought that she was right.

"Tell me you didn't?" Clarke shakes her head, irritated. "Tell me _you_ didn't call Dante!" The guilty look that flashes across the doctors face, tells Clarke everything she needs to know. "What were you thinking? You can't keep interfering in my life like this."

"You call it interfering, I call it caring," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "You may want to pretend otherwise, but it's only been five days since you've left the hospital. Your voice has only just completely recovered."

The reminder wasn't necessary, Clarke was already well aware of that. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" Abby countered, with a defiant rise of her chin. "You've been ignoring your friends. I know you've been skipping meals, Clarke. You hole yourself up in here for hours without taking a break. It's not healthy."

"I'm working, or well, I was until you decided that you knew best. Conspiring behind my back with my boss. Do you know how unprofessional that makes me look? I have worked my ass off for this opportunity and Dante had already agreed to come view more of my work to replace the painting from the fire, until you got involved. And now I have to play the hostess for a showcase event that should have been mine! Nice going mom."

"I was only trying to help."

Clarke scoffs, feeling her heart start to beat faster. "You didn't. You've made me feel a hundred times worse, so thanks."

"I--"

"Save it," she interrupts. "I just don't wanna be around you right now. I'll... see you later."

After grabbing her phone, jacket and shoes, Clarke quietly slips out of the house.

 

Clarke didn't really have a destination in mind, she just kept on walking until she realized she was nearing the local park. It was deserted at this early hour, with only the occasional dog walker and jogger passing her by. Perhaps it's still the after-effects of the spat with her mother, or the brisk walk, but Clarke can feel the elevated thump of her heart with every step she takes. So she makes her way over to a bench, fumbling in her jacket pocket for her saline nasal spray - only to remember that it isn't there. Her hand meets a folded piece of paper and a coffee receipt.

It brings a smile to her face, because she realizes too late that she's wearing Lexa's leather jacket. A habit she's adopted without conscious thought. It makes her feel calm, almost serene when the soft leather warms her body. Some may say, she's being doltish and explain away her feelings, although it doesn't make them any less true. With a deep breath she brings her nose into the collar of the lived-in leather, a welcoming scent draws her in - fresh rain, crisp morning air and pine. . . _Lexa._

This isn't the first time that Clarke has glanced over the items she'd found in Lexa's coat pocket, but that doesn't stop her from taking another look; nasal spray forgotten. The first is the coffee house receipt for two lattes, one flat white and an espresso. She would be lying if she said she hadn't wondered which order was Lexa's. A flat white, if she had to guess. It's the folded over paper that makes her feel closer to the hero Lieutenant. A shopping list written in blue ink with perfect penmanship.

Clarke can't help but trace her thumb delicately over each item on the list.

_Fabric softener_  
_Kiwis_  
_Apples_  
_Milk_  
_Reese's peanut butter cups_

The last one makes her smile, being something of a sweet tooth herself; has her agreeing with Lexa's choice of candy. Her smile doesn't last however, not when she feels her phone vibrate from the pocket of her grey sweatpants. Carefully putting the list back where she found it, Clarke reaches for her phone already knowing who the message is from.

**Today.**  
**Mom (6:31am)** : I really was only trying to help.  
**Mom (6:31am)** : I'm working a double shift tonight, so I won't be home. Please eat something later. x

She won't reply.

Not yet at least, but her mother was right about one thing. She had been ignoring her friends. The amount of unanswered texts and voicemails was proof enough. Scrolling through them only made her swallow hard. . . It made her want to run.

**Friday.**  
**Jasper (4:12pm):** Is it too soon to send you the Doors, Light my fire link? ;)

Wow. Crass and yeah; way too soon for jokes.

**Thursday.**  
**Niylah (9:00pm):** I have Thai food. Wanna "come" over? ;p

She doesn't even have a response for that.

**One Missed Call: Octavia.**

**Wednesday.**  
**Bellamy (3:00pm):** Hope U're feeling better? Call me when U can.  
**Bellamy (2:59pm):** Tried 2 call.

**One Missed Call: Bellamy.**

**Tuesday.**  
**Octavia (4:21pm):** Shit. Just heard what happened. Call me. Love you!!

  
No! She just . . She can't. . . She needs to put distance between herself and that day. Talking about it won't help, not right now. Not now. After switching off her phone, she just sits there. Cradles her head in her hands, wanting to fight back her inevitable tears. She--

"Clarke?" She hears the voice of her saviour speak, shocked and a little breathless. "Is that you?"

It takes her a moment to react. Like she's suspended in time, her glassy eyes slow to meet Lexa's concerned gaze. When blue eventually find green, Clarke gasps. Lexa is literally before her, real. Not just some figment from her dreams. What astounds Clarke the most is once again Lexa has found her when she feels most in need.

"Clarke?" She repeats, pulling the second earbud from her ear.

Clarke follows the movement of the headphone wire as it hangs against the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Lexa has clearly been running, she's dressed mainly in black. Right down to her sneakers, her leggings and vest. The only hint of color is from the navy blue of her zip-up hoodie. She looks even more beautiful than Clarke remembers. "Lexa?" She reaches out to her. "You're really here?"

Lexa nods taking a seat next to her. Before the hero speaks, Clarke softly cups her cheek. "I never thought I'd see you again. When I woke up at the hospital you were gone and--" She tries to express, only for the words to tumble over each other.

"Hey, it's ok," Lexa gently sweeps away Clarke's tears with her thumb. "I'm glad I had the chance to see you again too. I've been wondering how you're doing. I guess I was just in the right place at the right time again, huh?"

Her smile sends tingles throughout Clarke's body, she lowers her head to hide her blush. Absent-mindedly she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear only to remember that it's unwashed; has been for three days now. She's certain that the loose-fitting denim shirt she's wearing is covered in old paint stains. There's most likely paint on her face too, jeez, she's a dishevelled mess. Lexa must think she's crazy, unkempt and crying on a park bench at this hour. "Erm," Clarke clears her throat. "Do you run here every morning?"

"Yeah, I'm something of an early riser--"

"I'm wearing your jacket." Clarke suddenly interrupts like Lexa isn't already aware of the fact. She only has to look at her to know, and as second meetings go, Clarke's pretty sure she's blown it.

"Keep it," Lexa smiles warmly. "It looks better on you, than it ever did me."

Clarke can't hide her flushed cheeks this time, although she would have to disagree with her on that one. "Thank you. I can't imagine what you must be thinking of me right now. I've had. . a rough couple of days, if I'm being honest. I can only apologize if I seem a little. . . distracted."

"No need for any apologies, Clarke," Lexa tells her sincerely, reaching out for her hand. "We could always go grab a coffee? If you wanted to tell me about it. I've been told I'm a very good listener."      She can believe it too.

"I'd like that."

 

 


	4. Promise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke makes a promise, she intends to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!! <3 <3 <3

**I'm Where I Should Be**

 

Thankfully the café is mostly deserted at this hour.

To which, Clarke is relieved. Being around people isn't exactly what she needs right now. She much prefers the solitude, and there is a few advantages to be had by having coffee in the early morning stillness. For one, there's no crowds and two, she has Lexa's undivided attention. Intending to keep it that way, Clarke finds them a table situated over in the far corner. Still somewhat hidden away from the skeleton-staff working there.

"Here, let me get that for you." The Lieutenant reaches forward, courteously pulling out the chair for Clarke to take a seat, and honestly she can't remember the last time anybody did that for her.

It felt nice.

"Are you hungry?" Lexa inquires, her hand still resting on the back of Clarke's seat. "Because the cream cheese bagels are delicious, and the crullers they make here, are some of the best I've ever eaten."

Her enthusiasm makes Clarke smile, but her appetite has been lacking lately and just the thought of food right now only causes her to shake her head. "No food for me, thanks. Just a latte will be fine."

"You sure I can't tempt you?"

The persuasive velvety tone of Lexa's voice is enough to almost maker her reconsider. "I'm sure," she declines anyway, holding back a chuckle when Lexa pushes out her bottom lip in an over exaggerated pout - at her refusal - as she walks away.

Clarke knows she shouldn't openly stare, she should pretend to be preoccupied with her phone or least act as if she's perusing the menu, while she waits for Lexa to collect their order. Instead her blue eyes follow her every step. She watches on intrigued as Lexa rushes over to assist the middle aged woman working behind the counter.

"Here," she hears Lexa's soft voice echo through the empty space. "Let me help you, Molly."

The small auburn haired woman chuckles affectionately at the offer, clearly glad of the help. The large box she is struggling to carry obviously to heavy for her. "You truly are a God send, Lexa. Thank you," she sighs in relief once Lexa has taken the parcel from her. "These old bones can't heft boxes, the way they used to. I keep telling the delivery driver, Mccreary to unload these where there meant to go. But he never listens," she softly nudges one of the other three weighty looking boxes - littering the floor - with the tip of her shoe. "Maybe I should look into switching suppliers."

"Would you like me to talk to him again?" Lexa asks, effortlessly lifting another cardboard box, as she continues to transfer them into the back room for the owner - without even being asked to. It's clear to see that Lexa must have done this many times before.

"No. You do enough for me already, dear," she beams, holding the door open for Lexa to walk through, and Clarke tries to avert her gaze when Molly glances over, but she isn't quite fast enough to miss the woman's knowing smile. "If I'm ever in need of assistance, you're always there as if by magic. Whenever I need you." She chuckles heading back behind the counter to prepare their drinks order.

With the last box moved, Lexa dusts off her hands sending Clarke a smile as she replies. "It's nothing, really. I'm happy to help out."

"Nothing but free crullers, you mean," Molly shakes her head, already piling a plate with sweet treats. "I know how you like them, and I won't take no for an answer. You hear."

"Yes ma'am."

Soon enough, Lexa returns back to the table with a large tray in hand. "One latte for you and one flat white for me," she places down the large cups carefully, and the small piece of information has Clarke smiling broadly behind the collar of her leather jacket. Her assumption over Lexa's coffee order had been correct.

"And lastly, enough sugary goodness to make your dentist sweat." Lexa laughs, taking the seat opposite Clarke, discreetly nudging the tasty looking crullers closer to the blonde. "I must say," she continues, taking a sip of her coffee - green eyes finding blue. "It's nice to see you smiling again. You looked so disheartened before."

It was true, Clarke belatedly realizes. She has smiled more in the last ten minutes than she has done for the last five days. A feat Lexa can take full credit for. _If only it could last_. . . With another demure smile, Clarke nods her head in the direction of Molly. "It's hard not to smile at such chivalry. Guess it's just nice to see that people can still be thoughtful and considerate nowadays."

"Acts of kindness are still all around, you've just got to look for them." Lexa winks playfully.

Clarke isn't so sure of that, Lexa is completely one of a kind in her book.

"I'll have to take your word for it on that one, but hey, at least I'm not crying anymore, right. I bet you must think I'm crazy. . I'm not by the way, but I bet that's exactly what a crazy person would say." she tells her, pulling nervously on the sleeve of the worn leather as she does so.

Clarke finds herself relaxing at the richness of Lexa's laughter. "Expressing your emotions is a very healthy way of dealing with stress, Clarke."

"I've been having trouble sleeping," the words leave her lips almost subconsciously in her explanation - rushing forth like an unstoppable tide. "I keep having these nightmares and I know they're not real, but I'm afraid to go back to sleep. . . because most of the time. . I . end up back there." Clarke draws in a shaky breath, trying not to close her eyes at the memory. "Trapped."

She lifts her head, when she feels Lexa's fingers lace together with her own. "Hey, I got you. You're okay."

The words of comfort make Clarke pause. _I've got you._ It's the same phrase Lexa had told her when she pulled her free from the burning car and the same expression she had heard many times in her dreams. Lexa her saviour, even now. Holding onto Lexa's hand more tightly, she shakes her head in disbelief. Her voice unsteady. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I told you all of that. I shouldn't be dumping all of my problems onto you like this. You've done enough for me already."

Lexa scoots forward in her chair, moving even closer. "I'm going to have to stop you there. Right now, there is nowhere else I'd rather be than talking to you. Helping you and didn't I tell you that I was a very good listener?" She smiles so earnestly that Clarke feels the effects of Lexa's radiance right down to her fingertips. A static charge that flows right through her.

All Clarke can do is believe her. "You did."

"I only wish I had better advice to offer you in regards to sleepless nights, Clarke," Lexa tenderly rubs her thumb across the blonde's hand. "Dreams are a battle that only the mind can fight - believe me - time; as cliché as it sounds, is indeed the best healer."

_Time that is so easily lost._

"I thought that was it," Clarke shuts her eyes at the weighty confession. The words lessening the burden buried within her soul. "That my life might be over. . Then two green eyes locked with my own and I somehow knew I was going to survive." Her shuddering breath wavers, her eyelids remaining closed tight - unable to look at those very eyes now in fear of rejection. "I've never felt anything like it."

"Clarke--"

She hears Lexa begin, feels the hard-working pad of her thumb still running soothing patterns against her own skin. A constant reassurance and in spite of all that, Clarke still interrupts her. "I know that I made it. My body escaped the inferno, but in my mind. . . In my dreams, I'm still there."

When the tears begin, she lets herself be pulled into Lexa's strong arms. Finds the solace she's seeking in the comfort of her warm embrace, as she hides her face into the crook of Lexa's neck and finally lets herself sob.

"You're safe, Clarke." Lexa whispers softly against the crown of her golden tresses. "You're safe."

Here in the shelter of Lexa's hold, she finally feels secure enough to surrender to her sadness.

So she does.

  
She doesn't remember almost blacking out, she doesn't recall how her knees seem to buckle beneath her. Her mind is hazy on those details, the one thing she is certain of is Lexa. Once again she is there to catch her before she falls. Her limp body safely anchored within her tender grasp.

"Clarke?" Lexa calls out in a delicate tone, as not to startle her.

A weightlessness settles over Clarke, a misplaced notion of _home_ as she's held and lifted into Lexa's arms. Here, she feels protected. Where nothing could ever harm her. "M'sorry," she slurs, movements sluggish as she tries to hold on. "I felt dizzy."

"Sit her here and I'll go get some cold water."

She frowns when she spots Molly hovering anxiously nearby. She claws and clings tighter to Lexa's hoodie - fearful of losing the warmth radiating from her. "Lexa!" The name leaves her mouth on a choked whimper.

"I'm not leaving you," she reassures, like she'd read her mind. "I'm just going to sit you down here. Okay?"

Clarke nods, marginally easing her iron tight grip as she's placed down. Her eyes connect with anxious green, as Lexa kneels before her - remaining close. "Do you still feel dizzy?" Lexa asks, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind Clarke's ear.

"Just a little light-headed."

Molly is quickly upon them again, glass in hand. "Is she alright? She looks very pale. When was the last time she ate?" The café owner barrels question after question. With a nod of gratitude, Lexa takes the glass of ice water and brings it towards Clarke's cracked lips, gently coaxing her into taking a long sip.

"Have you eaten anything today, Clarke?" Lexa asks, her eyes never leaving sorrowful blue.

"I had a piece of toast. . . Yesterday." She admits, turning away from Lexa's furrowed brow and Molly's gasp of horror. Embarrassment quickly colors her cheeks at the admission. Her bloodshot eyes sting as a fresh lone tear rolls down her face.

"No wonder the poor girl nearly fainted," Molly places her hands onto her hips, shaking her head in disbelief. "No one is leaving here until their bellies are full with one of my delicious breakfast platters. Now, what's it to be; eggs or waffles?"

With no energy left to fight, Clarke simply tells her. "Eggs please."

"Coming right up."

  
Clarke wasn't entirely sure she would be able to manage to eat a whole plate full of food, but once the appetizing aroma of crispy bacon and scrambled eggs drifted over from the kitchen area, she found herself feeling rather famished. Under Lexa's attentive and encouraging gaze, Clarke surprised herself by eating every tasty morsel in front of her. The hollow feeling inside of her stomach was quickly replaced with the nourishment of much needed food. She steals a glance at Lexa sat beside her and smiles affectionately at the buttery crumbs dusting the corner of her mouth. With no thought, she moves on instinct and brushes away the remnants of food with her thumb - freezing upon contact.

"Sorry. You had food. Umm, on your lip." She hurries to explain, blushing so fiercely she can feel the heat from her own cheeks.

"Thank you." Lexa smiles returning to her food, leaving Clarke to breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Bringing the cup to her mouth for a sip of coffee, Clarke finds her eyes returning to Lexa's profile. She knows the outcome of her day could have ended very differently again, if it hadn't been for the Lieutenant. She could have lost consciousness - from lack of food - alone on the park bench where Lexa had found her this morning. The brunette had saved her yet again, had held her while she cried out each heart-wrenching tear until she had no breath left in her lungs.

She'd proven to be a new ally in her life.

A new _friend?_

She hoped.

"Clarke?" The sound of Lexa's sweet voice breaks her away from her daydreams.

"What?" Clarke places down the now tepid coffee, glancing down to Lexa's now empty plate.

Just how long had she been lost inside of her head?

"A penny for your thoughts?" Lexa asks, draining her own cup dry.

"Sorry," she shakes her head, stacking their used plates together to occupy her nervous hands. Part of her wants to feel the reassuring weight of Lexa's palm in her own. To keep her mind grounded, to feel that much closer to the woman next to her. "I'm just thinking about earlier, about what could have happened if I hadn't ran into you today. I know it's only been a short space of time, but you've acted like a real friend--"

Her sincere speech is undercut by a deep yawn, to which Clarke hides her head into her hands. "Guess it's all that food, huh?"

"Would you like me to take you home?" Lexa offers with a warm smile, like she could sense Clarke's sudden exhaustion. "I could call us an Uber, or wait with you while one of your friends comes to pick you up. I only ask because I don't like the idea of you walking home by yourself."

Her heart sinks at the thought of having to part ways once again with Lexa, but she supposes she's taken up too much of her morning already. With a heavy heart, she returns the smile. "You don't have to do that. I've interrupted enough of your day as it is."

"I love being in your company, Clarke," Lexa tells her, discreetly leaving money on the table for the breakfast - even though Molly insisted it was on the house. "If I didn't have work in an hour; I'd happily sit here all day with you."

The sparkle in her green eyes leaves Clarke with a soft thumping in her chest.

"So, will you please let me see you home?"

With a nod, Clarke agrees.

 

"This is me," Clarke says, taking in a deep breath - the Uber patiently waiting on the curb outside behind her - as Lexa insisted she see Clarke right to her door. "Thanks for breakfast and the crullers." She holds up the takeout box, already knowing her mother will devour half of them when she returns home from work.

"You're welcome," Lexa softly grasps Clarke's forearm, stepping forward. "Any time you want to reach out to me, to talk, to grab some food. Anything, you just call me." She slips a folded piece of paper with her free hand into the pocket of Clarke's jacket. "It's so easy to feel isolated, but please remember that you're not. You need to take care of yourself. Promise?"

"I promise."

  
Waiting until the Uber was out of sight, Clarke headed back inside. With a grin she couldn't contain, she added Lexa's number to her phone.

Intending to keep her word, she sent her mom a message.

**Today.**  
 **You (8:45 am** ): I've had breakfast with a friend. Don't worry. x

  
Making her way into the living room, Clarke turned on the flatscreen to take the silence out of the room. Curling herself up on the sofa, she let her heavy eyes fall closed with thoughts of only Lexa.

For the first time in five days, she didn't dream. 

 

 


	5. Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke decides to go after what she wants.

**"I'm Where I Should Be"**

 

****

Clarke was a woman of her word and had been trying to make a conscious effort to keep her promise.

She'd taken a refreshing shower, making sure to grab a small bowl of Granola for breakfast. Her appetite hadn't fully returned, but she was mindful about not having a repeat performance of yesterday's fainting spell. No sooner had she awoken after her much needed sleep, she had reached out to Lexa - thanking her for their impromptu breakfast. From there, the two began to exchange texts throughout the evening. Endless hours spent messaging each other - Lexa a willing _ear_ \- even when Clarke told her she wasn't doing so good.

It was only when she collected her phone from the charger however, that she noticed a new message from Lexa.

**Today.**  
**Lexa (5:57 am)** : <jpeg>

Clarke bit her lip as the breathtaking photo filled her screen. The morning sun was peaking over the horizon of Polis park, the cloudless sky was painted in a beautiful blend of orange and pink hues in the orbiting rays of light. It was so awe-inspiring, Clarke felt the overwhelming need to get it down on canvas.

**Today.**  
**You (7:20 am)** : Wow! <3 Lexa, that view is so serene!! It needs 2 b painted! :)

**Today.**  
**Lexa (7:21 am)** : Thought you might like it.

Not expecting a reply so quickly, Clarke grins - eager to write her response - when she noticed the notification dots appearing.

**Today.**  
**Lexa (7:21am )** : It reminded me of you. :)

Such a beautiful sunrise had made Lexa think of her?

It gave Clarke pause; it also gave her hope. She'd felt this indescribable pull towards Lexa the moment their eyes had locked and a wellspring of emotions had seemed to follow. Lexa was so caring and considerate, it was hard not to fall for her, to want to be around her. Whatever this unspoken feeling was; Clarke wanted to explore it and hoped it wasn't so one-sided as she feared.

**Today.**  
**You (7:23 am)** : I'm touched!! :"> Can I call u?"

**Incoming call: Lexa.**

 

"Good morning, Clarke." Lexa greets brightly over the hive of activity happening in the background. Loud voices, laughter, heavy equipment being moved and placed. The kind of bustle Clarke was trying to avoid.

"Morning," she replies, her lips curving into a smile at the sound of her voice. "Is this a bad time to talk?" Clarke asks, taking a seat on the sofa, reaching for her open sketchbook as she does so. "Because if you're busy I can call you back later?"

"No, it's fine," Lexa assures. "Sorry for all the noise though, the guys and I are heading out soon to help a local depot with their fire drill training, but you know I've always got time for you. Are you okay?"

The thoughtful words make Clarke's pulse flutter. "Yeah," she hums, her right hand tapping nervously on the page in front of her. While blue eyes rove over the almost complete charcoal portrait, focusing on the subtle details of Lexa's face she had missed in the early hours. "I guess I just wanted to hear your voice and says thanks for the lovely photo you sent me." She confesses, each word clumsily spoken over the last until it sounds inaudible to her own ears.

Surprisingly, Lexa had still understood her garble. "You're welcome. Did you manage to get any sleep after we said goodnight?"

"If by sleep you mean; watching infomercials until I almost ordered the _must have_   food processor because of the sellers impressive enthusiasm. . . then no." She lets out a self-pitying chuckle, wondering what Lexa must think of her.

"Why didn't you call me?"

Clarke takes a moment to let the question settle over her. To let it fill her heart with warmth. Lexa had already devoted most of her evening to her, she couldn't have asked for anymore. "Because you need sleep too, Lex," the pet name slips out without conscious thought. "Besides, I did get some sketches done and I'll most likely paint _your_ sunrise later."

"It's a beautiful day to be cooped up inside," Lexa prompts softly. "You could go enjoy the sunshine or catch up with a friend maybe?"

She's right. That's what she should be doing. Since the fire she has virtually abandoned her closest friends, every single message they have sent has still gone unanswered. This has been the longest she's ever gone without at least checking in with them, and Clarke knows she needs to reach out. She can't keep shunning them forever. It isn't fair.

"I guess it would be nice to see them," she hesitates, the words feeling lodged in her throat. "I've. . . been avoiding their calls ever since. . the fire. Pretty shitty of me, right?"

The judgement she's expecting in return never comes. Lexa's voice remains soft and caring. "Not at all. Everybody needs a little space sometimes and I'm sure your friends understand that. They only want what's best for you."

"How come you always know what to say to make me feel better?" She tells her, hoping Lexa doesn't think she's being cliché, because she means every word.

"I'm just happy to help, but there really is no time limit on emotions and healing. You've been through a traumatic experience and it's okay if you need some time, putting pressure on yourself is only going to make you feel worse. The people in your life that love you, only want to be there for you."

Clarke shakes her head at Lexa's unassuming response, from anyone else she'd most likely snap out a defensive reply, but with Lexa she doesn't need to. Clarke knows each word is sincere. Before she can tell her how much she appreciates their talks, she hears a voice call out for the Lieutenant. "Guess that means you gotta go?"

"Sorry, I really don't like leaving our conversations midway through," Lexa apologies, causing a tingle of excitement inside of Clarke's chest. "May I call you back later?"

A small breathy chuckle slips past her lips before she can stop it - at the absurdity of her question. "You never have to ask that, Lex. You can call me anytime."

"Good to know," she says animatedly, before she stills - a soft lull - like she isn't quite ready to say goodbye either. "Have a lovely day, Clarke."

"You too." Clarke holds her breath in hope of more. She waits, listening to the fire station hubbub play out until she finally hears a click.

The call may have ended, but Clarke feels lighter somehow.

-

Three versions of Lexa's sunrise later and Clarke was finally happy with the outcome.

The first is a simple sketch, she considers more to be a _monochrome doodle_ \- a way to get the feel for the lines and shade. The second is moved on to canvas and quickly abandoned - at least in her mind - the piece doesn't show enough beauty, something about the tone, the mix of colors isn't quite right. By the third painting it's perfect. Each brushstroke is expertly applied in a tapestry of exquisite color. So beautiful, Clarke almost doesn't want to share it with anyone else but Lexa.

It feels that special to her. Like the sunrise photo was a little secret Lexa only wanted to share with her. Returning the gesture, she sent her a snapshot of her work with the title - _a hidden oasis_ \- over an hour ago and was eagerly waiting for a reply, but when one didn't arrive she knew Lexa must be still hard at work. Double checking her phone, her thoughts soon drift to their earlier conversation about her friends. Taking a steadying breath, she opens up the group chat app and reads over some of the older messages.

  
**Group Message** :

**Jasper** : any1 heard frm Griff yet?

**Octavia** : No, but Abby said her voice is still hoarse.

**Jasper** : but she always sounds husky. Nothin new there :p

**Octavia** : Ha! Ha!

**Jasper** : was that sarcasm O? Can't tell thru the chat?

**Octavia** : Guess u can't see me flipping u the bird either?

**Jasper** : ROTFL

**Lincoln** : Now, now. Play nice u 2 :)

**Octavia** : I'm always nice, babe.

**Jasper** : except when you're not :p :p :p

**Octavia** : Looks like Jas doesn't want 2 have dinner at ours 2nite, Linc.

**Octavia** : I better clear away his place setting.

**Bellamy** : Can I have his share of dessert?

**Lincoln** : :) lol. . .

**Octavia** : U can, Bell. It's all yours!

**Jasper** : Hey!! U know Amy will cry wiv/o c'in her fav uncle.

**Bellamy** : 2nd fav, u mean! I'm no1 buddy.

**Jasper** : true.

**Bellamy** : U know it! :)

**Jasper** : Plz feed me O. I'll starve wiv/o u. :~(

**Octavia** : ok, Jas. Only 4 Amy's sake, u can join us 4 dinner. ;)

**Octavia** : I'll call Clarke & c if she can join us 2.

 

Guilt coils in her gut at the exchange and she finds herself repeating Lexa's words. "They only want to be there for you."

  
Mind made up, she starts typing out her own message.

  
**Group Message** : **11:19 am**

  
**You** : Can any1 make it 2 lunch l8r?

  
She hits send before she can second guess herself.

  
The reply is instant and eases some of the weight on her shoulders.

  
**Octavia** : Finally!!!!!!

**Octavia** : U lose ur fone or somthin? ;p

**Bellamy** : Don't start O!

**Bellamy** : How r u?

**You** : Feeling a lil better.

**Octavia** : Good!! We've been worried!!

**You** : Sorry. I needed some time 2 myself, u know. :/

**Bellamy** : U never have to apologize. It's us!!

**Octavia** : Actually, that 1 time u got paint on my dress. . .

**Octavia** : I wanted an apology 4 that. ;)

  
She smiles, relieved - thankful that there is no judgement from them - only love.

  
**You** : Ha ha :) I remember. So, can u guys join me 4 lunch?

**Bellamy** : I can.

**Bellamy** : But I think Jasper is still asleep!

**Bellamy** : Zzzzzzz!

**Octavia** : Well he was up all night playing xbox.

**You** : Same old Jas. :)

**Octavia** : I cnt make lunch 2day tho :(

**Octavia** : Amy has the snuffles & Linc is at wrk.

**You** : Aww, hope she's doing ok?

**Octavia** : She's grizzly & clingy & needs a nap. :)

**Bellamy** : O, u need me 2 go 2 the store 4 u?

**Octavia** : Thanks Bell. Linc went b4 wrk. x

**You** : Give her a kiss from me, O. x x

**Octavia** : Will do.

**Octavia** : Soz. I gota go. Amy's crying again :/

**Octavia** : Call me l8r Clarke. I've missed our long chats!!! Love u! xxx

**You** : Ok. Luv u.

**Bellamy** : Wot time 4 lunch, Clarke?

**You** : 1 hour? The usual place?

**Bellamy** : C u there. :)

**You** : :)

-

Clarke barely makes it to the table before Bellamy pulls her into a fierce hug. She quickly returns the embrace, looping her arms around the small of his back in silent apology for her silence over the last couple days. The Blake siblings were always a little overprotective of those they considered _family_ and Clarke hated herself for letting them worry needlessly.

Soon settling into their surroundings, Bellamy wastes no time ordering a burger topped with everything. While Clarke opts for a small salad, still feeling full from her breakfast. They don't rush into any heavy conversation, which Clarke is grateful for. She's not quite ready to divulge her inner most feelings, doesn't want to keep reliving the trauma of _that_ day over and over again. She's dodged enough of her mother's incessant questions already, and knows Abby has been giving Octavia a running commentary about her well-being, because she's heard some of the phone calls. So at least she doesn't have to go into too much detail; superficial facts she's fine with sharing. And when he brings out his phone to show her some pictures, she can't help but breath a sigh of relief.

"Look," he beams, leaning closer so she can see the screen. "She's already trying to crawl." Bellamy grins at the picture of his niece, held safely in Octavia's arms. "Linc is convinced that she tried to say dada, but O swears it was only wind."

Clarke smiles at the look of contentment on her best friends face in the picture. Motherhood had come as a welcomed surprise to the newly engaged Octavia, but it was clear to see that this was the happiest she'd ever been. "She's so adorable," Clarke coos over another picture. "I can't believe how much she's grown since the last time I saw her. It's only been a little over a week."

"Right? She's already outgrown all of the onesies me and Echo bought for her," he swipes to the next photo of little Amy taking a nap in her proud uncle's arms. "Maybe you could stop by and see her soon. I know O would love that and she'd certainly love having a conversation that didn't involve talks of diapers and spit up."

She knows it's only a suggestion and something she has done a million times before, but she can already feel a refusal forming on her tongue. Excuses why she can't go. She knows she'll be the number one topic of discussion and she simply doesn't want that. Clarke isn't ready for more sympathetic looks and well meaning hugs. Isn't ready for them to know that; no. She's _not_   doing okay. How can she tell them all that, when she isn't ready to admit it to herself. That she can't shake the feeling that she never really escaped, that she's still somehow suspended in her terror. How can she begin to tell them? When she's scared that if her friends look close enough they'll eventually be able to see through her facade anyway. Glimpse the anguish she's desperately trying to hide.

Before she lets her thoughts spiral, she returns her attention back to her untouched salad. "How is O?"

"Cranky. I don't think I've seen her yawn so much, but she's. . . happy," he pockets his phone, taking a sip of his soda as he does so. "More importantly though, how are _you?_ "

"Ready to get back to work." Is all she discloses, digging her fork into a piece of tomato.

Bellamy nods at her reply, a faint hum following like he expected her to say more. When she doesn't, he picks up his burger, taking a large bite. An unfamiliar strained silence seems to shroud them as the seconds tick by. Neither one seeming ready to speak about what was really on their minds. Ready to dispel the quiet with talk of other things, Bellamy finally speaks.

"We were all going out of our minds with worry, when Abby told us what had happened," he sighs, his dark eyes pained when they briefly flit to hers. "O was ready to storm the hospital, until Abby reassured her that you were fine and needed rest."

"On the bright side, least mom doesn't have to give me another lecture on getting a new car," the attempt at levity falls flat, causing a frown to appear on Bellamy's face at her flippancy. "It's scrap metal now."

He pauses then, shakes his head. The burger in his hand landing with force against the pile of fries on his plate. "Sometimes you're just too stubborn for your own good, you know that? I wasn't going to mention it, but we've all warned you about that death trap on wheels, but you knew best. What if the fire department hadn't arrived when they did? Have you thought about that? Who knows what could've happened!"

His words are harsh, but true, so she allows the moment of anger. The fear of what the outcome could have been.

In her silence, he relents. Tone softening. "Abby's still singing the praises of Lieutenant Woods, you know. There was even talk of sending a fruit basket to the fire station. O suggested a whole keg of beer, but Abby vetoed the idea."

"She doesn't drink." Clarke is quick to answer without conscious thought.

"Oh?" His voice takes on a teasing tone, eyebrows raising. "And how would you know? Been doing a little Insta stalking, huh?"

A smile forms on her lips. "We've kinda kept in contact," she tells him, her voice whisper soft like she's confessed a heartfelt secret. In some way Clarke felt like she had. Deciding to omit certain details, she continues. "Lexa is so caring and approachable. . . She. . She's been amazing actually."

The knowing smirk on his face, makes her want to shove him. "Hey! Don't give me that look." She blushes, prodding at her meal once again.

"The only look I have is amazement," he chuckles, finally taking another bite from his burger. "I don't think I've ever seen you blush. You must really like her."

"Laugh it up, Blake." Clarke playfully scowls, to which he only laughs harder.

"Well, she did literally sweep you off your feet," the chuckling continues as he chews his mouthful of food. "So. . . I guess attraction is kinda inevitable."

Her expression falls, along with her tone. "Is this the part where you tell me that this is nothing more than a reaction to her saving me? Like a crush on a movie star? Harmless?"

"Okay?" He frowns, the laughter fading. "Did she tell you that?"

"No," she sighs, dropping her fork and the pretence she was actually eating. "I'm afraid that she might though. I bet she gets this all the time, people hitting on her when she's only trying to be kind. Mostly everybody swoons over firefighters."

Bellamy nods in agreement. "They do, but from the way Abby tells it, Lieutenant Woods went above and beyond her duty to stay with you at the hospital," he gives her an encouraging smile. "I might not know anything about her, but I do know the only genuine smile I've seen from you today is when you mentioned Lexa's name. And I've never known you to hold back before, unless I'm missing something here. She isn't married or anything is she?"

"She's single," Clarke tells him, the butterflies inside springing to life again just like they did when Lexa first told her she wasn't seeing anybody. "I've never met anyone like her, Bell. She's. . . special."

"Then go get her," Bellamy advises. "If you're only worried about the movie star crush thing, then you shouldn't. This is a little different, because hey, it's not like I'll be going to dinner with Jennifer Lawrence anytime soon and Echo would probably kill me if I did. But you're getting to know Lexa, and it seems like you have a real chance, if you wanna take it."

"You're right. I've never let fear hold me back before. Why should I now?"

Bellamy laughs, returning to his food. "Can I get that in writing. Maybe a plaque. _Bellamy Blake was right,_ " he waves his hand out. "I'd hang it in the living room, right where Echo could always see it."

Whatever she was going to say is forgotten when her phone beeps. The beat of her heart gains a faster rhythm, knowing who the message is from. With a wide smile, she grabs her phone not wanting to wait a second longer to read the reply.

  
**Today.**  
**Lexa (1:17 pm)** : Clarke, wow! Your painting is beautiful.

  
"Is that Lexa?" Bellamy asks. His grin getting wider at Clarke's reaction over a simple text.

"Uh-huh." Clarke nods, biting her bottom lip, glancing up from her phone.

"You _really_ like her, don't you?"

"I do," she takes a deep breath. "And I think I know a way to start showing her my appreciation."

 

-

As soon as Clarke returned home from her lunch with Bellamy, she headed right into the kitchen with a fierce determination. She wasn't much of a baker, although that didn't stop her from digging out a rather dusty cookbook languishing on her mother's shelf. Miraculously Clarke found all the ingredients she needed to make a _foolproof_ chocolate cake - the recipe boasted - and honestly she couldn't be prouder of her simple but delicious looking cake.

Lexa made no secret of her sweet tooth and what better way to surprise her - at the fire station - than with home-made baked goods. If it also happened to give her the perfect excuse to see Lexa again, then well, that was just an added bonus.

Clarke checked the time and hoped the Lieutenant was finished up with fire drill training. Before she could talk herself out of it, she carefully moved the cake into a large food container and sent for an Uber. She tried not to think about the fact that she was traveling in a car without anyone she knew for moral support. Instead she focused on trying to picture the look Lexa would give her at seeing the cake and ignored the drivers grumbles when she requested every window inside the cab be opened. With her hair taken back in a neat bun, Clarke didn't have to worry about looking too windswept.

Once she arrives, she stills. The sound of her blood thrumming in her ears, almost drowns out the noisy chatter coming from inside the fire house. Trying to gather up her remaining courage, Clarke hears a baritone sounding voice call out to her.

"Can I help you?"

The voice belongs to a stocky guy, not much taller than Clarke herself. His crystal blue eyes study her closely, suspiciously.

"Hi," she clears her throat. "I'm here to see Lexa."

He steps forward at her words, brows raised, eyes landing on the container she was clutching. "That for her?"

Before Clarke can reply, she hears Lexa's voice. "Quint, I thought you were--" The Lieutenant stops when she notices Clarke, a smile softening her expression. "Clarke, what a pleasant surprise. You okay?"

Clarke opens her mouth, but finds herself rendered speechless. The mere sight of Lexa clad in her work clothes leaves her breathless. Her gaze sweeps from heavy-looking black boots to fawn colored pants. She follows the path to red suspenders that lay snug against pert breasts, covered by a dark blue tee. When blue finally roam to meet green, Clarke knows she's been caught ogling.

Her cheeks flame almost as red as the fire truck parked nearby. "I made you a cake," she mumbles, trying to distract herself from the enticing view by glancing at the wall full of rolled up hoses.

"I'll leave you to it," she hears the guy - Quint - laugh. "See you tomorrow, Commander."

"See you tomorrow." Lexa nods, making her way over to a blushing Clarke.

The touch of a warm hand against her shoulder finally makes Clarke look up. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to say thank you again for breakfast yesterday." She holds up the cake suddenly feeling like her act of spontaneity was the worst idea she'd ever had.

"May I?" Lexa takes the container after Clarke's small nod of consent. The brunette eagerly pops the lid, inhaling the rich chocolaty fragrance with delight. "Thank you, Clarke. This looks delicious."

Clarke beams at the praise. "It's actually the first time I've ever baked anything. So I hope it doesn't taste like cement."

The smile Lexa gives her, has Clarke feeling giddy.

"If you have nowhere else to be, maybe you'd like to grab some food with me," Lexa offers, closing the lid on the cake. "It seems only fair that you get to sample some of your hard work."

She wants to answer: _yes_. She wants nothing more, but she hesitates. Not because of Lexa, but the idea of being in another crowded restaurant fills her with dread. Clarke was only thankful the poky diner she ate at today was relatively quiet.

Sensing her reluctance, Lexa gives her an out. "Another time perhaps." She smiles warmly.

"No. I. . . It's. ." Clarke struggles to explain.

Once again Lexa reads the situation perfectly. "Although I do have a rather large casserole back at my place. Way too much for one person to devour in one sitting. I could try, but eventually my stomach would protest--"

"I'd love to." She blurts out. 

"Yeah?" Lexa's eyes sparkle at her reply. "I'll just go change and we'll be on our way."

As Clarke watched her retreating figure, she had to fight the urge not to punch the air repeatedly with triumph.

 


End file.
